


Homemade

by AdrenalineRevolver



Series: Le Chat Noir Bakery [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bakery and Coffee Shop, Enjoltaire is Montparnasse's favorite ship, M/M, Minor threats of theatrical levels of violence, Mirror buddies, Past Montparnasse/Éponine Thénardier, Pining Enjolras, unsafe work practices
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-23 02:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17674469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdrenalineRevolver/pseuds/AdrenalineRevolver
Summary: Enjolras looks for something special to thank Grantaire.





	Homemade

Enjolras ventured into the bakery on Saturday morning. Normally it was quiet on these days. Normally. 

Today Éponine was behind the counter smiling as though she had entirely removed herself from the screaming going on in the back. 

“You bastards! You monsters! I give you a final chance and this is how you repay me?”

Enjolras could recognize the raised voice as belonging to Montparnasse. 

“Morning Enjolras.” Éponine smiled in a completely detached manner. “The usual to drink?”

“Um. Sure.” Enjolras nodded.

She quietly got to work. 

“Get out of here before I flay you alive!” There was a response that couldn’t be heard. “I don’t care! I don’t care! Get out! Leave! You fucking brat! All you do is use this place as a goddamn playground! Go fuck in an actual playground if you want a cheap thrill!” There was another pause. “Don’t you dare “Montparnasse” me, you started this borderline exhibitionist bullshit now you have to deal with it or else you’re just a fucking creep dating an eighteen year old who thinks he’s not a goddamn kid. Now get the fuck out of my store before I kill you.” A final pause. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF BABET’S BAKERY BEFORE I FUCKING KILL YOU!”

Montparnasse storms out of the back with a large soufflé dish in hand. “’Ponine it was perfect. It was perfect, they bumped into the oven, and now they need to die.” His eyeliner was smudged. “Or maybe the bitch who ordered this needs to die.”

“You started early in case it fell anyway. Now that you’ve gotten the white-hot rage out of your system just relax and try again in like ten minutes or so. They only take about forty-five minutes to cook, it’ll be fine.” Éponine finished off the drink and Montparnasse raised an eyebrow when he noticed it. He quickly headed into the back without another word. Éponine brought the coffee over and set it down in front of Enjolras with a grin. “Bet you he’ll be out in a few seconds with freshly applied make-up ready to act like he never felt anything but anger.”

“If I was a gambler I wouldn’t think of touching that.” Enjolras took the drink with a smile.

Montparnasse strolled out of the back with a fresh application of make-up and picked the dish back up to show his little audience. “Blondie look at what those idiots did.” He placed it on the table where Enjolras could see that it was fallen. “They made a big deal about being given a final chance to come back. I was feeling generous, of course, so I let that creep and that brat back in.” He shook his head.

“Brat?” Éponine leaned over the counter. “He’s two years younger than you.”

“I wasn’t like that.” He rolled his eyes. 

“That’s because you were pretending you were straight. By dating me.” She grinned and it was almost feral. “Remember, _honey_?” The pet named dripped with sarcasm.

“I was an excellent boyfriend. Taught you how to dress yourself, scared away any unwanted attention, and I got you this job. We figured it out.” Montparnasse was trapped between getting defensive and bragging about how great he had been for her.

“Oh no, other than the deep seeded guilt it gave me for dating a guy who was obviously in the closet and the hissy fits you were great. I’m just saying you had a good reason to not be trying crazy shit. You were too busy still thinking you needed to over compensate.” She cleaned off the espresso machine.

He waved her off. “Anyway, they desperately wanted a last chance so I gave them one. Because as you know, I’m a giving and trusting person.” Éponine snorted behind him and he ignored her completely. “They lasted one day. Yesterday seemed okay. Today they were screwing around again and bumped into a soufflé that I have to have ready in an hour. I want to skin them. Any time I let them in here I end up stress eating half of what I make because they’ve ruined it.” Montparnasse practically flung himself into the chair across from Enjolras. 

Enjolras wasn’t exactly sure what to say, to any of it really, so he just grabbed the teaspoon that came with his coffee and took a small swipe of the fallen soufflé. “If it makes you feel any better it tastes great.”

Montparnasse smiled. “Oh you’re sweet when you don’t have the fire of god thing going on. It’s not just the soufflé though. It’s everything they’ll ruin in the future. What if I have some baumkuchen ready to go and they knock it off the table? What if they bump into Babet and ruin a wedding cake? What if Faunt falls and gets seriously hurt on something? I mean if Sous impales himself on something because he was an idiot that’s his fault but I’ll feel actually bad if Faunt get’s hurt.”

“It’s kind that you care about him.” Enjolras pointed out.

“Gross. I only care about me.” He grabbed a spoon and dug it into the soufflé.

“And Gavroche.” Éponine added.

Enjolras knew this game. “And Jehan.”

“And Babet.” Éponine didn’t even need to look up to know she was getting on his nerves.

“And Éponine.” Enjolras grinned.

Éponine stopped working and sat on the counter. “And Feuilly.”

“And-“ He was interrupted by a spoon being waved threateningly. 

“Okay you’re a name away from having to pay for this,” He then spun around to look at Éponine. “And there’s a knife embedded in the wall that you’re now in charge of dealing with.”

“You’re terrible with any ounce of power.” She stretched like a cat that was done sunning itself and went into the back.

“So,” Montparnasse continued to pick at the fallen soufflé. “I take it you’re here for the sad drunkard?”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras corrected. 

“That’s the sad drunkard’s name yes. You want to get something for him.” He thought for a moment. “What’s something special about you, frenchie?” 

Enjolras cocked his head to one side. “What?”

“Geographically or whatever. I know you look like it but you can’t have just popped up out of the ground in France.” Montparnasse pulled out his phone. 

“Well, my Grandfather’s first language is Occitan and he very much considers himself to be Occitan. He outright refuses to speak French and was once arrested at the age of seventy for vandalizing the walls of a school that originally said “Speak French, Be Clean.” To say “Speak Occitan, Be Free.” “Enjolras laughed. “My father thought it would be a punishment to send me to their little farm outside of Albi every time I got in trouble. I think it just made me worse by his standards. That and it gave me an obsession with the Tarn. Why do ask?”

Montparnasse stared at his phone for a moment. “Clafotís?” The pronunciation wasn’t quite there but he tried.

“My grandmother makes that sometimes. I know it’s not quite traditional but she has this pomegranate tree that she just adores so she always uses it instead of black cherries.” It would often dye the whole kitchen red and pink. 

“Then that’s how I’ll do it.” He made a note and slipped the phone back into his pocket. “I figured if you want it to mean something it has to actually mean something, but I have no clue about the sad art boy’s family deal so something really Jewish would be a loaded guess. So you might as well shove something meaningful to you down his throat. Besides, all he probably knows about you is that you’re pretty, scary, and would absolutely righteously kill a man if you didn’t have at least one of your groupies hanging around to remind you that murder isn’t in your alignment. This shows him some of that mortal soft shit that you probably don’t even realize you sweep under the rug.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow and it was all Montparnasse needed.

“Shut up, I’m helping you. Do you still have my number?” His leg bounced as he was thinking

“Yes?” Enjolras pulled out his phone in case he needed it. 

“Text me a description of what it looks and tastes like. Any family secrets you’re comfortable parting with.” He quickly held up his hand. “No pictures unless you just need them.”

Enjolras started typing. “Why no pictures?” 

“Grantaire really isn’t the type to care about what food looks like. It’s a tragedy, but whatever. If I know what it should look like I’ll be tempted to make it too perfect when he seems like he likes the homemade look and taste more.” Montparnasse leaned back in his chair. 

“So…” Enjolras couldn’t help but poke. “What will you make Jehan? When you feel comfortable enough, of course.” 

Montparnasse stabbed the soufflé a few times and eventually leaned his head back. “Well you’ll be chased out by the party anyway.” He took the soufflé to the counter and yelled into the back. “I’m taking Blondie upstairs!”

“Are you sure?” Éponine called.

“Eh.” He shrugged and walked back over. “Bring your coffee and you can finish it there.”

“Upstairs?” Enjolras didn’t hide his hesitancy. People weren’t allowed to go to the upper floor of the bakery; even Éponine scarcely went up there. 

“You going to sit around and look a gift horse in the mouth or follow me?” He unlocked the side door and went upstairs. 

Enjolras followed behind with his drink quietly hoping he wasn’t walking into a drug operation.

The top of the steps had another door; it was painted black and curved at the top. If it was meant to be intimidating it was certainly succeeding. Montparnasse unlocked the door and as he did the sounds of movement kicked up from inside. 

To Enjolras’ relief, as well as his confusion, it was an apartment. A very oddly decorated apartment that Enjolras would have never associated with Montparnasse had he not seen the door. Well, the red Mahogony fainting couch and coffin for a coffee table was something Enjolras absolutely would have expected. However the portions that weren’t decorated with immaculate precision to match Montparnasse’s aesthetic were noticeably bare.

A pedigree sight hound of some sort with a collar that was probably more expensive than Enjolras’ outfit looked up from the couch and slowly wagged it’s tail, the long hair creating a swishing effect and a needy black cat came screaming up to the door. 

“Hi Tiffany, if you don’t touch her she dies.” Montparnasse picked up the cat, who started purring immediately. “That’s Burberry, he does his own thing.” He pointed out the dog who just watched them with vague interest. “They’re both a shame to their species.”

The window that faced the street was the circular logo that bore a stained glass black cat in art nouveau style. It had never occurred to Enjolras that the flowers the glass cat toyed with would cast small colored beams of light across the room. It reminded him some of a church, if the church worshiped cats.

The second most eye-catching thing in the room was the rug hanging on the wall. Montparnasse noticed Enjolras interest and started pointing things out. “I see you immediately spotted the only thing of value here. My great-grandmother made that when she decided to cause a hell of a problem and propose to a man that wasn’t Roma. He was Persian so she figured that working more than six months on this would be the only hope that his family wouldn’t freak. It’s blue for power, red roses for passion, white ones for innocence, tulips for prosperity, hyacinths for regeneration, lotuses for rebirth and immortality, peonies because you can never have too much power, irises in each corner for religious liberty, the dogs were both for protection and because she missed her own, and the horses are because she refused to give up her own culture. Up here is where she bucked the system entirely and stressed that she was a woman asking for someone’s hand in marriage. Based on the fact that they wrapped their shit up in it in the night and wound up here you can imagine how that went.” He set the cat on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room and she chirped.

“I don’t know what to say. It’s lovely…” Honestly he hadn’t any clue about all this. 

Montparnasse grabbed an old book out of the kitchen cabinet and showed him a yellowed page detailing something called Rose Almond Baklava Cake. “It was hard to find phyllo so she made this.”

“I…That’s wonderful. Why show me all this? You could have just told me.” Enjolras was tempted to touch the page.

He carefully closed the book before pulling it away. “But then you wouldn’t get the warm fuzzy shit. Just telling you feels like nothing. Showing you is something. Imagine if I made it for you. Or in your case, had someone who doesn’t burn toaster pastries make it.”

Enjolras blushed furiously. “I’m not that bad a cook.”

There was a knock at the door. “Hey, you going to start that next soufflé?” Éponine called through the door.

“Fuck.” Montparnasse quickly put the book up and made for the door. “Don’t spill that shit while you’re up here or let them trick you into thinking they haven’t been fed. They’re fine.” He points directly to the animals; if they know they’re being called out they pretend not to notice. 

In a matter of moments Enjolras was left alone with his coffee and Montparnasse’s pets. One of which had already decided that Enjolras was amazing because she was meowing at him with increasing volume from the counter. At least he could try and get a little work done up here.

Éponine glanced at Montparnasse as they worked on the order. “I want to accuse you of living vicariously through them or just wanting to make sure you get the money from catering the wedding but the reality is way lamer. You’re liking this match making shit. You’ve gone completely soft.”

“Marius Pontmercy.” He didn’t look up from whipping the egg whites.

“Ouch.” She laughed and shook her head; Montparnasse couldn’t particularly tell if it was at her own poor taste or his.

**Author's Note:**

> Technically the bakery is in Babet's name. He really doesn't care that it's Montparnasse's _thing_ and considers it his but the others are sometimes like uM. ((Montparnasse lives upstairs because otherwise he'd never come to work in the beginning.))  
> Also this was Montparnasse and Éponine's song and he refuses to call her under almost any circumstances because he knows it will play (warning it's a little lewd so headphones): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HFmeURLVtKM&frags=pl%2Cwn  
> They figured it out. ((when they broke up they wrote up a contract saying if they're both alone at thirty-five they'll get married and start fostering cats because they were a little afraid only they could put up with each other))  
> The mirror bros are really cute when they don't try to bite each other.


End file.
